


Loenas and Saores

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Gen, Gods, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:05:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loenas went to the mortal realm, he found an extraordinary mortal man.<br/>He plans to spend eternity with Saores, but years later he suddenly disappears.<br/>When Saores discovers that he has been reborn into the mortal world he demands to be allowed to follow him, but is denied it, until they realize Loenas has forgotten who he truly is. They send Saores to the mortal world in search for his lover, to remind him of who he is, and the eternity he promised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loenas and Saores

**Author's Note:**

> Look what I managed to write, wow. This is very OOC, but dammit I have a thing for reincarnation and happy reunions.  
> Non Beta'ed

Long ago it was theorized that the old gods would walk the earth once more, disguised as mortal beings sometime in the future. Yet they would have incredible power, enough to end the world if they so wished. These musings took place roughly 4000 years ago, and was disregarded 3000 years ago. About 1000 years later Christianity supposedly came into play and everything sort of went downhill religion wise. However the prophecy, for indeed it was a prophecy, from 4000 years ago was correct. Back then they had already witnessed it after all, and the prophecy only came into existence when the gods deserted the people. Humans are fickle beings, and when gods walk among them people will start doubting, others will recreate the magic of the gods and convince people they are being fooled. After a while it all got too much, the gods felt betrayed and left the earth, of course it is human nature to realize ones errors far too late. And thus the prophecy was born, only to be disregarded once more. Today the gods do indeed walk among humans in mortal form, with powers beyond human comprehension and understanding. Of course there are some people who know. A chosen few who aids them when needed. When ones own little brother is one of said gods, it is no wonder that Mycroft is one of said humans.  
Sherlock was not always a god. He had been mortal 4500 years ago. Back then the gods had the power to enter the mortal realm and take lovers. Whit his peculiar looks even then there is no wonder that a god took interest in him. Loenas was a god, a lesser one but still a god. He was a healing one, specifically healing upon battlegrounds. A war god of sorts. A peculiar mix, but necessary, as wounded soldiers prayed and pleaded to either survive or have a peaceful passing. It was always about ending the pain however. Loenas would escort the soldiers to eternal rest. Dying in battle was noble, and earned them a special place in the afterlife, and while he himself did not escort them the entire way, he showed them to the one who could. The souls of the soldiers who prayed to him in their final moments were his to guide in the right and final direction, so said their laws.  
He had a slightly less problematic time entering the mortal realm than other gods. The less power, the less physically noticeable mortal form. His only outstanding feature was his occasionally golden hair and glowing eyes. Loenas loved the mortal world; the humans fascinated him. Their ideas and morals, warfare and medicine, any progress they made would be regarded with pride. Their buildings befuddled him, for he didn’t need any protection from the elements. Gods cannot feel the chill of night, the pain of hunger or thirst, the weariness of travel. Loenas understood that the humans felt more than he could ever imagine, and he thought they were brilliant.

Loenas spent most of his time in a coast city, when no wars were fought and his presence was not needed. It was big and full of traffic due to the harbour. So full of humans and their life. It was during one of these times he ran into a man. He was not just any man, but a man who thrived on mystery. He had no work, no home; he was for lack of a better term a street performer. They were plentiful in the vast city, making a living on their talents on the streets. The truly talented ones could get picked up to preform in actual places. Good ones if you were lucky, some weren’t. This man claimed he could tell you anything about your life from a mere glance at your person. He was truly magnificent. He never got anything wrong, those who claimed he did were clearly lying, this was apparent to all who were present. Some still denied him payment, outraged when he revealed their secrets for all to know. However he did make enough to eat and make sure he had a roof above his head more days than not. Loenas came often to watch him, entranced by his abilities and strange beauty. It was no secret that this man was attractive, more than once he had been offered payment for his body, but he declined every time. Some tried to take him by force, but he would outsmart them, fleeing between the buildings of the white city and loosing them in the process. He seemed to know every street and corner. One day Loenas chose to approach the man. He had of course noticed Loenas’ constant return and quickly declined his money for any physical services. Loenas was quick to assure him he wanted nothing of the sort, a simple conversation was all he wished for. And the man complied. His name was Saores, and he had come from a land across the sea to seek adventure. He was saving to buy an animal on which he could travel further into the land. Saores was surprised, but pleasantly so, when Loenas had wanted to talk to him. Friendliness was not new to him, but encounters of such nature were few and far between. As night fell upon the city, and the stars shone, Saores finally asked Loenas,  
“You are not a mortal man, are you?”  
Leaning against a white stonewall, side by side and gazing at the expanse of deep blue sky and dark ocean, Loenas could only smile.  
“No, I am not. What gave me away?”  
Saores turns his eyes onto him, such a piercing gaze for a mortal.  
“You have the ethereal shine about you, it is faint but not unnoticeable for one who is observant.”  
“One such as yourself?”  
They share a smile and return their eyes onto the scene before them. Companionable silence falls between them again, and Loenas spends the night there, Saores’ head on his shoulder as he sleeps. He has grown fond of the mortal man.  
Loenas returns every day he can, for expanses of time he cannot see Saores due to wars, but he always returns. They grow close; some may even say the two men were affectionate. After a particularly long war Loenas returns to the city, for a being who cannot feel the tired aches of a mortal body, he believes he has never been closer. Saores greets him with a kiss, and that night Loenas takes him to bed for the first time. They have been lovers for five years when a few of the citizens accuse Saores of treason. He had told a couple that the man had killed the womans father in his pursue of wealth. More people came forward with stories of how Saores had revealed their secrets, claiming him to be a spy, a sorcerer, and a liar. Saores making a living on this was not taken well either, and so he was to be executed. Saores spends the night in a cell, and Loenas comes to him as he sits beneath the small window bathed in light from the moon.  
“Help me escape, Loenas. We can flee this city together.”  
“You came here for a life of adventure, not the life of a pursued convict. I cannot do that to you.”  
“So you would rather have me die!”  
“Saores, my love, of course not.”  
“Then what? What are we to do?”  
Loenas shares a look with him, their eyes are sorrowful, and tears drip from both. Loenas’ tears shine like silver as they fall to his feet. He has never shed tears before, never felt as strongly for a mortal being as he does for Saores.  
“There is a way we can spend eternity together, but it is permanent, and you can never leave me.”  
“I wouldn’t wish to.”  
Loenas smiles trough the tears, and Saores reaches for him. Embraced in his lovers’ arms he tells him how he can become immortal.  
“When the flames of he pyre surrounds you, pray to me and only me. Say no other name than mine and your soul will belong to me for eternity. It will be mine to do with as I wish, and I will grant you a physical form once more. Then we can be together. I wish there was another way to do this, to forego your death but I’m afraid it’s not.”  
“Do not worry, Loenas. Death is a small price to pay for eternity.”  
The next day Saores is sent to the pyre, and as the flames engulf him he speaks only his lovers name. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them he sees Loenas in his true form before him. He himself looks as he did when mortal, but with the ethereal glow about him that all gods have. They spend the next 4500 years together, observing humanity and their progress, for now they can share this interest together in a new way. 

In 1976 Loenas was born again to the mortal world. Not many gods had been born again by that time, it happened gradually and unnoticed. Of course once all the lesser gods had been reborn they did take notice. Something had prompted them all to be born into the mortal world, none was too sure what but one thing was apparent, it was only the lesser gods for the time being. None of the truly powerful ones had been reborn, and neither had any mortal turned immortal lovers, which meant Saores was alone. He did all he could to find out what had happened, and find a way to join Loenas once more. He found that the most powerful of the powerful had decided the humans needed a bit of help. Loenas had been sent because of all the war going on, and Saores was furious. They had watched as the humans almost destroyed themselves over and over, and now they decided they needed help? Saores wrecked havoc for a long time, demanding that they bring Loenas back, or that he could join his lover on earth. They said no, of course, and banished Saores to be confined beneath the branches of a tree bearing golden fruit. For five mortal years he waited, before the gods came to him, pleading his help. Something had happened when Loenas had travelled to earth, and he had forgotten who he was and the powers he possessed. At first Saores refused to help them because of their betrayal to the both of them, but when he heard of Loenas’ loss of memory he said he would help. He could not stand the though of Loenas having forgotten their time together. Saores was sent to earth and born into the year 1982. Sherlock Holmes was 13 when he looked into a mirror and saw himself as he truly was. Instead of black unruly locks, gangly limbs and a nose his mother always said he would grow into, he saw a tall man shrouded in a silver glow, eyes the colour of nebulas and determination. He remembered what he had to do, and then he started searching.  
He didn’t have much to go on, didn’t know Loenas’ new name, not even the year he was born. He would be quite a lot older by now. Sherlock resigns himself to recreate his life as Saores, or as close as he could get. He moves to London, because it’s the biggest and busiest city, and he knows Loenas will be attracted to the liveliness of it. He creates an occupation that takes in use his most priced skills. Consulting Detective, it fits him so well, and he’s 22 when he finally starts working with the police trough one Sergeant Lestrade. He makes a good life, makes connections to help him find Loenas. He walks the streets of London often, gets to know it like he knew the city he met Loenas in. He searches hospitals, places known to be prone to fights. He knows Loenas’ nature, he’ll be close to the action, but he’ll be caring for the wounded. Sometime he wonders if he has been born in the wrong country, he had been the first time. He’d had to buy his way onto a ship to get away from his dreadfully boring life. He manages often enough to reason with himself that they wouldn’t have sent him anywhere else than at least the same country as Loenas. One day after 7 years of searching London, 25 year old Sherlock takes up Lestrades offer to go to the pub after a particular trying case. It involved lovers and revenge and it dredged up too much emotion, emotion he wasn’t supposed to have or feel. He hasn’t drunk human alcohol since before he met Loenas, but that night in the company of Detective Inspector Lestrade and a few other yarders he drinks with abandon to forget. He forgot how loose tongued alcohol could make him.  
“Sherlock, ease up a bit why don’t you? You’re gonna get a massive hangover if you keep going like that.” Lestrade says from the seat beside him. They’re all sat around a table, well they’re sitting, by now Sherlock is slumped in his chair. He looks solemn, and Lestrade gives him a worried look.  
“Something the matter?” Nobody really expects an answer other than ‘No’, so the answer they do get surprises the entire ensemble now looking at Sherlock.  
“Have you ever had someone… someone you truly loved, be forcefully taken from you?” Most people shake their heads, too dumbfounded to say anything. Sherlock Holmes just admitted to loving, or at least having loved, someone. He glances around at them, and then snorts in distaste.  
“Well, it’s fucking terrible.” And even Sherlock is a bit astounded as the curse rolls off of his tongue. He knows he should stop but he can’t. Not now, he’s hurting too much and he needs to let it go, at least a bit.  
“One moment you’re so happy, and the next some selfish arseholes has taken them away from you, and then they force you from seeing them.”  
“Sherlock?” Lestrade questions, his eyes are sympathetic and confused when he turns to meet said mans gaze.  
“What?” He’s slurring a bit, but only a bit.  
“What’re you talking about?”  
“Oh Lestrade don’t be so daft! I’m obviously talking about my “long lost love” who was kidnapped, do keep up.” He brings his hands up to make quotation marks around the words, movements a bit uncoordinated, yet somehow still fluid. If the topic hadn’t been such a grave one Lestrade might have laughed long and hard from hearing Sherlock utter the words ‘long lost love’.  
“Okay okay! Just, elaborate a bit more?”  
“Alright, you will probably never get this story out of me again so pay attention.” Sherlock straightens a bit in his seat before gulping down the last of his beer. Damn it all, damn it all to hell and back. He’s gone long enough now, he’s angry at himself, angry at the gods, the entire world. He wants his Loenas back, and he’s so very tired of the disappointment every day when he cannot find him. He decides to tell them the story, a heavily edited version of it at least.  
“Years ago I spent some time on the streets, and there was this one man who kept coming back, and so one day he asked if we could talk. And so we did. We became friends, close friends. He had this job so he would often leave for extended periods of time, but he always came back. Eventually we started a romantic relationship, and we were… happy. It lasted a long time but then one day he disappeared, and I searched for him and found that these selfish, egoistic, bastards, had kidnapped him and managed to erase his memory as well. I’ve been looking for him for years but… nothing. I don’t even know which name he goes by now!” he throws his arms up in frustration, and then all the anger leaves his body and voice. He lowers his arms onto the table, looks at his empty hands.  
“I miss him, and I know if I find him he’ll remember.” He sighs and lifts his hands into his hear, tussling the curls before placing his elbows on the table. Head still in his hands he sits there for a few minutes. Everyone is silent, exchanging looks as if to say ‘Is this really real?’. Then Sherlock fishes a few bills out of his wallet and gets up.  
“That should cover it I think. I’ll be leaving now, good evening.”  
Lestrade gets his bearings about him first.  
“Oi, Sherlock! You’re not driving anywhere in the state you’re in!” he makes to get up as he speaks but halts as Sherlock replies,  
“I don’t have a car.”  
He keeps walking towards the door, a bit unsteady, but otherwise fine. They stare at the door after he’s left. Lestrade turns to address the lot of them.  
“No one is to speak of this. Ever. Understood?” They don’t need more ammunition for the more mean spirited yarders, even if Sherlock can be a right bastard sometimes. They all nod in agreement, and Lestrade settles back satisfied.

 

Early on in his life John learned two things, he realised he had a desire to help people. In preschool he was always the first one on the scene with tissues and a hug is anyone fell over and scraped their knee, or got a nosebleed, anything really. He thought that was it, he wanted to help when people hurt, so he’d become a doctor. Simple. As he got older he realised kids can be cruel, and he often found himself being involved in fights he had nothing to do with by standing up for the kids who couldn’t do so themselves. That landed him in the teachers’ office more times than he’d have liked, but he always felt it was worth it. He got some good friends out of it. And that’s how he realised he didn’t just desire to help people, he wanted to protect them. It was a burning need within him to care for the wounded; he didn’t understand it at first. Trough his early teens he shifted between wanting to become a doctor and a police officer. To help or to protect. He knew he needed to do either or both, somehow, but he didn’t know how. At least not for a while, but one day the army came to his school and had a presentation. They said there were different jobs within the army, and they needed everyone who wanted to. Their education could even be sponsored by the army with a scholarship. At the end they asked if anyone had any questions. John raised his hand.  
“Yes you, in the striped jumper.” Said the blonde lady, pointing to him. What John asked came as no surprise to those who knew him well.  
“Can you be a doctor and a soldier?”  
“Of course, we need lots of doctors to help when people are wounded.”  
His two best friends, Mike and Lilly, shared a look and a smile. They already knew what John told his group of friends the next day.  
“I’m gonna join the army, and then I’m gonna train to be a doctor.”  
Most were supportive, some apprehensive at best, but they all responded with wishes of good luck. And that was exactly what he did.  
The second thing he had come to learn quite early on was to trust his gut feeling, or instincts, as some prefer to call them. He stuck with gut feeling because that described it quite literally. He knew what would be needed almost before an accident happened. As a child was teetering on the edge of their balance, not yet having lost the battle with gravity, John would be off, locating band-aids and tissues and water, whatever he might need that he could get a hold of. Then he would rush to the one who had gotten hurt and wash their knee or elbow or nose, give them a band-aid or the tissue to hold against the flow of blood. When he was presented with the chance to become a soldier and a doctor, the uneasy feeling in his gut suddenly eased and it felt so right that he decided then and there that it would be his course in life, by then his gut had always served him well and he had stopped doubting it. Before he was shipped off to war he never dated. Sure he found people attractive, guys and girls alike, but whenever someone asked him out he felt his gut wrench as if he was going to be sick. It felt wrong, just plain wrong, and so he declined everyone. When he eventually did get sent off to war, his gut helped him save a lot of lives, but he couldn’t save them all. I’m only human after all, he reasoned with himself. On one fateful day however, he saved a soldiers life under a particularly strong ambush. Thompson had gone down, bullet to the leg, he could be saved yet and John had rushed to his side ready to stop the bleeding. Then he’d felt a tug, and out of nowhere he realised that someone was behind them, above them, ready to shoot them both with a rifle. If he didn’t at quickly they’d hit Thompson in the chest and he’d die from blood loss within seconds. John dived forward covering the body in the sand with his own, and he felt the bullet rip into his left shoulder. He howled in pain, and a fleeting thought drifted across his mind as he blacked out, watching the orange sand beneath him turning a murky red. ‘How strange it is, to feel this human pain’. He didn’t remember it when he woke up in the medic tent two weeks later. Fatigued and weak from the fever that had taken him. He got shipped home and it felt so wrong to leave everyone behind.

Sherlock doesn’t watch the news all too often, he watches new about on going crimes, but not on going events, let alone news about war. But one day by chance the telly is on and he hears of the worsening conditions in somewhere, he didn’t pay attention, but as he glances up and sees the battlefield displayed in pixels on the screen he realises. HE wants to kick himself for being so stupid. Of course Loenas would become a soldier, but not just a soldier, and army doctor. It’s so obvious. He must be there at this very moment, most likely getting shot at, most likely he’s going to die out there, before meeting him. Before he can see Saores again and realise who he truly is. What will happen to his immortal being if he doesn’t remember who he is when he dies? Sherlock despairs, and is in a bad mood for two weeks before he can reason himself out of it. Loenas is a master of the battlefield, better yet a master of surviving the battlefield. He calms himself and thinks that sooner or later he’ll have to return, and Saores will be waiting for him.

John takes to walking. He enjoys walking down the streets of London, watching the bustling people, the life and commotion in the city. As strange as it sounds, it calms him down. He walks and walks, talks to Ella about the war, about feelings, or rather she tells him things and he answers with single words. Sometimes she gets sentences out of him. He doesn’t like talking about his time in Afghanistan. It reminds him of where he should be, the people he should be helping and protecting, but is not. He prefers this. Walking trough the streets with no real destination in mind, it feels aimless, but sometimes his guts tells him to go places, and he does, but nothing happens. Still he goes, because his guts have always been right, so why would they stop now?  
It’s on one of these walks that he happens upon a crime scene, of all things. He’s curious, of course, but decides against it and keeps walking. He misses a tangled head of dark curls as he passes, but the owner of said hair does not miss the small man hobbling along. There was no way he could be mistaken.  
“And so it’s-“ Sherlock stops mid-sentence. And that in itself is astounding enough for everyone to look at him. His eyes have fixed upon something a little away form the crime scene.  
“What? What is it? D’you see anything?” Lestrade asks him, trying to see what it is Sherlock sees behind him. He’s just started to turn when Sherlock takes a step, then starts jogging, then is flat out running to catch up to a small blond man with a cane. The yarders stand at the crime scene, left behind, dumbfounded at what the detective is doing.  
“Loenas!!” They hear him shout, and the blond man stops abruptly, drops his cane and turns. Sherlock stops right in front of him. To John, this man is a stranger for all of three seconds. Then something ignites within his eyes, and Sherlock breaks into a smile, shortly followed by John.  
“Saores…” he breathes, almost uncertain, and Sherlock smiles even wider. Johns knees have gone weak, he thinks he’s about to collapse, but Sherlock gathers him in his arms. He presses close, burying his face in Johns neck, bending over him, and Johns arms fly up to grip at Sherlocks back. When they draw back from each other, after a good while of course, Sherlock cups Johns face in his hands and all they can do is take each other in.  
“I forgot you, how could I forget you, I’m so sorry Saores, my love, oh I’m-“ he’s silence with a kiss. Saores hasn’t heard his true name for so long and even longer from his lovers’ lips and it’s too sweet not to chase his own name on those lips he’s missed do much.  
“Oh Loenas, my dear dear Loenas, it’s okay. I’ve found you.”  
They embrace once more, and it feels almost as sweet as the time after the pyre, when eternity was their promise.  
“It’s John now, John Watson.” He says trough a laugh and tearful eyes.  
“Sherlock Holmes.” He says trough his own.  
Lestrade and the rest of the yarders choose this moment to follow Sherlock to where he has, from what they can tell, just assaulted this complete stranger.  
“Sherlock! What the hell are you doing?” Lestrade asks him, looking form John and back to him again.  
“Right, of course, one moment.” He says and gives John a once over. John recognises those eyes, that gaze, what’s about to spill from Sherlocks lips and he can already feel himself smiling.  
“I was right, army doctor, recently invalided home form Afghanistan or Iraq, I’d say Afghanistan knowing you. Shot to the shoulder, but you have a limp, that’s psychosomatic and so you obviously have a therapist. We’ll get rid of that in no time. You most likely have PTSD, and survivors’ guilt, but that’s wrong. It’s not survivors’ guilt, it’s guilt for being here and not there, doing what you can to help and protect others. You live off of the army pension, which means you have a tiny bedsit somewhere, one you won’t be able to afford much longer, but you like Lonodn too much to give up on it. Like the life of the city, the fascinating people. I’m in need of a flatmate anyway, found a place on Baker Street, you’ll love it.” Sherlock stares at him, the yarders stare at Sherlock, and John breathes out,  
“You. Are. Amazing.” And he grin splitting his face could have been shining, glowing, radiating. Lestrade coughs awkwardly, sending a pointed stare at Sherlock.  
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Sherlock finally looks away from John and to Lestrade.  
“Right, yes. Lestrade this is John Watson, the man I told you about.” John sends him an amused glance.  
“You told him about me?”  
“I got drunk and confessed I was looking for you, I have been for a long time now.”  
“Still sorry about that.” John mutters and turns to shake Lestrades hand.  
“No matter. John, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade. I’ve been working with New Scotland Yard police force trough him for the past six years now.” He turns to John, “I’m a Consulting Detective, only one in the world. I invented the job. I use my abilities of observation to help them solve cases such as the one we’re currently working on.”  
“Of course you do!” John says with a huffed laugh.  
“Oh Sherlock it’s so you, I’m glad you found something good to do while you were here.”  
“Well, needed something to keep my brain from rotting.” They share a knowing smile.  
“Alright, if reunion time is over I’d like to get back to the crime scene.  
“Oh, yes of course.” John says, and follows Sherlock over to the police tape. Sherlock lifts it as John walks under it to follow him.  
“I didn’t mean he could come too.”  
“Oh don’t be such an idiot, John’s a doctor and a good one. He’ll be useful.”  
“Sherlock be nice, sorry about him, he’s always been quick to insult.”  
“I’m used to it.” Lestrade dismisses with a restrained sigh.


End file.
